Three Sex Dreams Cory Matthews Never Had, Really
by merry-melody at a03
Summary: 1. Cory/Shawn/Angela 2. Cory/Shawn/Topanga 3. Cory/Shawn


Three Sex Dreams Cory Matthews Never Had, Really

slinkhard

Chapter Management

Edit Chapter

Delete Chapter

Chapter 1

Chapter Text

Okay, so Cory's well aware he's the centre of their group, but he can't help but guiltily enjoy it a little. When you're Average Boy surrounded by a girlfriend and best friend who are gorgeous and talented, having them fight over who gets to be around you is a reassuring ego boost.

But Angela?

Angela, he doesn't quite get.

He likes her – she appreciates Van Damme, the perfection that is Topanga and Shawn, and sure, she's kind of stunning, herself, not that he's noticed. What's not to like?

But every so often, he just gets this niggling feeling that she isn't quite as taken with him.

He hates to think he's been spoilt by Topanga and Shawn's rivalry into expecting everyone to adore him, but it kind of stings a little to think someone could want Topanga and Shawn and not him there with them. You might as well order a Ferrari and then remove a wheel.

Also, she's kind of…well, not cold, but to Cory, it's practically the same thing, although it sounds crazy even in his head, but she's…not jealous.

Everyone he loves has a jealous streak, he and Shawn and Topanga have been envious of each other and the various intricacies of their relationship since they met pretty much.

Factor in Eric leading ahead, surrounded by girls and friends; his family trying to divide their attention between all three plus Shawn; and the world full of guys keen to appreciate his girl and his best friend away, and it's a rare day when someone he knows isn't being bit by the green eyed monster.

But Angela seems removed from all that.

Take his and Shawn's legendary friendship. Topanga alternates between fiercely nurturing, and opposing it. He hates there to be tension between any of the people he loves, but at least it's a compass guide to his world. Shawn and Topanga may go at each other's throats from time to time, but neither of them will ever let him hurt the other, and if it means leading him by the hand to why the other's pissed, they have infinite patience.

But Angela? She loves Shawn, she adores Topanga, but Cory secretly wonders how much.  
If you love someone, shouldn't it bug you if they love someone else more? Shouldn't there be comparisons? But comparisons don't seem to feature on Angela's radar.

It puzzles him, but it's no big deal in the long run. If anything, his primary emotion regarding Angela is gratitude.

The trio of Cory-Shawn-Topanga, while blissful, puts a pressure on Topanga and Shawn that he's guiltily aware.  
If Shawn has what he has, the stability Shawn needs and thrives under, the pressure's relieved a little. There's a break from the arguments, silent or otherwise – who goes shotgun in the car, who will he pair with in class, who's answer will he go with on the quiz.  
Topanga's mellower with another girl to talk to, and Shawn's more relaxed.

With the three of them, there's sometimes a look a little naked, or joke a little too artfully casual. A girl can fill the endless need.

He knows if Shawn just finds a girl he's not bored by, he'll see how much of a comfort it can be to know the next steps on the path.

And for Shawn, who's never been able to rely on family for long, the idea of looking in a girl's eyes and seeing the future stretch out – college, marriage, children, grand-children, and matched plots in the graves next to Cory and Topanga's, ideally – well, he can't think of a better gift for his friend.

Sure, sometimes he finds Angela a little mysterious.  
A couple of times she's said something a tad snarky for his tastes. Usually about him and Topanga.  
Angela's practical, sure, but her advice seems aimed at ordinary couples, not Cory-and-Topanga, a unit since babyhood.

Cory knows Angela's an army brat, and he figures that, like Shawn, she's probably a little afraid of the commitment that Cory-and-Topanga embody.

But Shawn will overcome all that. How could anyone not be won over by Shawnie?

And Cory has the rest of their lives to get to know Angela. What's the rush?

He doesn't know, but apparently his subconscious is pushing for something to be resolved, when, two weeks after his birthday, he dreams Angela pushes him onto his bed and climbs on top of him.

The dorm room is empty, and Angela's wearing a silky dress, her hair flowing down her back.  
His mouth goes dry.

Oh, great, Cory. Your fiancée and your best friend are going to take turns killing you because you have a weakness for pretty hair? He thinks before realising. Wait a second.  
Why would Angela want to cheat on Shawn and lose her best friend into the bargain? Unless she has a brillo pad fetish, he's pretty sure this is a dream.

His next thought is an uncomfortable mix of aforementioned arousal and terror.

He and Shawn have often shared dreams – perhaps a side-effect of so many years of identical ambitions. Winning the game for the team and a wife who loves street hockey came up so often he still sometimes feels his eyes scanning over the closet for his winning jersey, and Topanga's groaning wall of trophies for a stick shape.

As they've gotten older, the dreams have occasionally become…well, nothing they'd show on HBO, but nothing he figures Topanga needs to hear about, at least not for a few decades.

The Mary-Beth one in particular is strictly on a guys only basis, although too much guilty browbeating from Cory and Shawn has been known to needle him about whether Topanga has her own secret imaginings.

Their dream about the senior floor and the squad of guys carrying Topanga to god knows where doesn't exactly set Cory's mind at rest. However, worrying about his girlfriend's dream fidelity seems a neurosis too far, even for him.

He's glad for this close lipped policy, but as Angela straddles him and leans in to whisper in his ear, he realises Shawn wouldn't be thrilled at this particular exploration of Cory's subconscious.

Angela's slipped into a sexy murmuring voice. Cory's dismayed at his own generic chauvinist piggery, but there's no denying its working.

'I am so sorry about your birthday, Cor', she drawls, although her smirk as she bites her lip contradicts her words. 'I totally forgot your present.'

Cory's swivelling his head in case this is a trap led by Dream Shawn, Dream Topanga, or worse, a deadly combination of the two; but Angela's position on his lap is a little, uh, distracting.

'I figured I'd make up for it and give you something else to unwrap.'

'S-S-Shawn', Cory stutters, meaning to remind her of their mutual reason to stop this right now, and succeeding only in conjuring up the man himself.

One minute the room is empty, the next, Shawn's perched on their desk chair, smirking wryly.  
'You two are so cute!'

Angela turns her head, not at all rattled despite her compromising position. She looks a little amused herself. 'I wouldn't go that far, the only name he's called out so far is yours.'

'Well, don't give up that easily. Cory here's a little shy, but a guy can't walk down the aisle without hearing a woman scream at least once.'

Angela makes a graceful shrug and breathes 'I am the screamer around here…'

Cory's eyes widen, and despite being hard enough to cut diamonds, he holds back.

'This isn't right. Angela, this isn't you, you and Shawn are -'

Angela's eyes go a little blank. 'You don't even know me' she mutters, and for a second, the whole room seems to shudder before Shawn rises suddenly, putting his hand on Cory's shoulder.

'It's your dream, buddy.'

'But I thought –'

Angela rolls her eyes, but doesn't get up. The opposite, in fact.

She places her hand on the crotch of Cory's jeans, and begins to stroke.

It feels as amazing as Cory always pictured, and the details – the wrong girl, the way she's not even looking at Cory, but instead at Shawn, almost challengingly; Shawn's hand still pressed against him – almost make it better. It's so obviously unreal that he doesn't need to feel guilty that it's not Topanga, the way he usually imagines.

The fact Shawn is there almost feels right. He's always there in these dreams for the first time – not there there, obviously, the next room at the hotel, the next limo at the prom, under a nearby blanket at the beach, close enough to hear his ever-loud breathing, smell his familiar shampoo, Cory can relax and know his more experienced friend is always there to hold his hand through another first.

Every fantasy about Topanga has always included Shawn as a by-product. Best man at the wedding, godfather of their kids, he's almost her proxy by this point. Sometimes he has to remind himself on the phone or jotting down a note who he's thinking of at that very moment, before he asks Shawn how the ring fitting went, or whether Topanga's booked the Sixers for Saturday.

He shuts his eyes for a second, and it's so familiar and at the same time alien, he almost feels dizzy.

Shawn's leaning way over, whispering in Angela's ear, Mr Cool's voice oddly raw. Cory's so blissed out he can only make out snatches '…touch him, he wants this…like that', thumb rubbing Cory's shoulder rhythmically in time with Angela, biting his lower lip.

Cory's closer than ever, and as Angela's fingers dip for the last time, guitar calluses scratching slightly, Shawn finally meets his eyes. His fingers tighten into a clutching grasp, and he mutters 'Cory'.

Angela raises her eyebrow slowly. 'I guess old habits die hard, Shawn' she draws out, voice so flat Cory can't tell what she's thinking.

He guesses he never could.

*  
The damp spot on his pyjama bottoms pulls Cory slowly into consciousness, sun glaring through the chink in the curtains, dissolving whatever dreams he had last night.

He grabs his towel and heads to the unisex showers, smiling fondly as Shawn yips contentedly from the next bed.

Whatever was going through his head last night, it must have been a good dream.

Chapter Two:

Okay, so even as he's been irrational, he knows he's being irrational.

Irrationally, this just makes him madder. Just thinking about the tape, the VCR tape itself, never mind what's on it, makes him feel hot and itchy, like he's trapped in a wool sweater.

He tests himself every few minutes, like testing a bruise to see if it's fading.

511 times he's failed the test, noticing fresh details every time. (Who wrote this dialogue?! Topanga's wearing the bracelet he bought her for her birthday, the hussy. Oh, perfect, Shawn's wearing the blue top that brings out his eyes perfectly. Is the whole world conspiring on this?!)

He can literally feel the heat between them, the temperature in the dorm has risen at least ten degrees since the rewatches hit triple figures. Or maybe the VCR is giving out, its whir becoming a prolonged whine the last hundred or so views.

Either way, Cory peels off his sweater vest.

Normally he's shy, even in his room, the co-ed bathrooms are pressure enough, but Shawn and Topanga have been suspiciously absent since The Incident, and the rarity of free time without either of them reminds him he currently has more free time than he knows what to do with.

Isaac makes him promise not to torture himself further and although Fred clearly did a number on him, he seems like a pretty smart guy. It's good to talk to someone who hasn't known Shawn and Topanga for years.

Cory doesn't want to bug Angela with this until they've agreed to explore these new feelings. He's torn between the fear that they'll instantly agree, unable to resist, or worse, a pity pretence.

Thinking of Angela firms his conviction that there's more to this than a movie. Cory has never really noticed attractive women in the same way as Shawn, but even with Topanga blinders, he can tell Angela's objectively gorgeous.

Shawn can't possibly expect to find a prettier girl or one better suited to him. Since they split, Cory's been feeling like he's missing something. Shawn said he wanted to see other people, but all he's been doing is hanging out with Gambling Dan and those other jerks.

Angela's hinted something about needing to find himself, which as far as Cory can tell, means reverting to high school.

He still doesn't get it, but now he's starting to wonder, his stomach suddenly hollow. Shawn's always said Topanga is the best a guy can get. What if all this is because he misses the tricycle days before Angela, when Topanga was the only girl he hung out with over two weeks?

Shawn's said he can't be Cory, but that was before he proved himself wrong and held down a relationship. What if this sudden need for freedom is prompted by feelings a little closer to home?

Shawn's always been good at faking it, but kissing Topanga and feeling nothing is a mathematical impossibility.

This could be survived - it'd be painful but Cory learnt a long time ago that life with Shawn often is, and even longer ago that it doesn't matter. The things he'd go through for Shawn don't have an imaginable limit.

The wild card here is Topanga. Topanga who's just as good at pretending, out of kindness rather than self-preservation, but the end result's the same.

He's never truly doubted her and Shawn together, out of trust but also because of her increasing lack of patience as he tries to juggle her needs with Shawn's. It used to be easy, or at least, she used to indulge them longer, but since their falling out over college, Topanga's been swifter at shutting down their mushier moments, not aww'ing like she used to.

Maybe the problem here isn't three becoming a crowd. Maybe the problem is Topanga's found someone she's a little surer of.

Cory thought he was the more passionate of them after the prom night fiasco put the kibosh on what he hoped would be the next inevitable step. But the boundaries keep shifting, and the hippy girl who pushed him against a locker for his first kiss seems more and more fixated on a traditional wedding and all that implies as the date approaches.

Cory thought it came from her need to be perfect, or maybe the recent renewed contact with her folks, but he can't help but wonder if Topanga's having doubts.

He's seen girls go gaga over Shawn for a lot less than a kiss - just watching the tape works him up, and he's not even on it, he reflects ruefully. It's probably just the heat in here. And the adrenaline.

He's self-conscious now he knows Isaac's within ear shot, and he definitely can't handle the co-ed bathrooms right now. What he really needs is space, and maybe to watch the tape again, see if there's anything he missed.

In this state, he needs to avoid Shawn. It's pretty crappy, but he decides thinking this out will benefit them all, and calls the locksmith.

Okay, so he might have slightly overreacted to the underpants thing. He knew Shawn would find somewhere for the night, but he'd guessed Jack and Eric's, so seeing him crashed out on the union couch gave him a tiny pang of guilt.

He squashed it down quickly. The most important thing here was to get across how normal and healthy his reactions are. But seeing Shawn lying around in his boxers set him off again.

It's the middle of the union, anyone can see him. Shawn's never been the modest type but Cory thought it went without saying that at least he and Angela were the only people on campus who'd seen him half naked.

Here he is, casually chatting - or PLOTTING?! - with Topanga, like it's no big deal. Cory only learnt how to go with other guys around last year, he still can't cope with public showers, and here's Shawn flaunting himself like Mr Trailer Trash '98.

Maybe this is why he and Topanga haven't had sex - she's found a guy without these weird hang-ups.

The restaurant costs the equivalent of a month's meal vouchers, so one way or another their feelings better get resolved. Angela's talked him down a little, describing the awful evening they're sure to be having.

He knows Shawn and Topanga can happily kill minimal amounts of time from personal experience, but a small mean part of him hopes it's awkward, even bitter like the arguments that sometimes flare up between them.

He knows he's being an insensitive jerk, but he continues to quiz Angela, and can't help but blurt as the thought occurs: 'When you and Shawn were together, did he ever call out the name Topanga?'

'No but he called out the name Cory.'

Angela avoids his gaze for a split-second before smirking slightly.

Cory's so busy scrutinizing her lovely face for deception, he doesn't hear her answer for a second.

His ears are suddenly buzzing and he folds his arms to cover it up, stammering out the first thing he can think of, smiling awkwardly - she's kidding, right? Does it look weirder if he plays along with the joke or gets pissed? He's already paused a beat too long so he figures what the hell and presses her one more time, stuttering slightly.

'In, in what context?'

Angela's defiance quickly fades though, and she deflects him.

That night, Shawn already yipping. Cory feels that pang again; he's probably pretty tired after spending last night in the union.

Cory won't be too long awake himself, today's left him pretty wiped. In the last hour, he's been kissed by his best friend's girl, tricked into believing his fiancée, best friend and, inexplicably, a cow, were messing around behind his back; and nearly broke a dorm bed with a four way hug.

The latter, while cute, put him on edge a little - cuddling up to Angela had already left him affected - he may not be in love with her, but he's not made of stone. Shawn and Topanga, kicking, squirming and rolling around in an effort to fit on a bed barely generous enough for one didn't aid matters.

The next thing he knows, he's outside the door again.

He feels a fuzzy confusion 'didn't this already happen?' as he dimly hears a metallic sounding 'Oh, Shawn!'

Deja vu hits him but good.

Clearly this is another one of his repetitive dreams like the clown, and while he mourns his own lack of imagination - oh very creative, Cory, a repeat of this evening - he'd rather go over this again then deal with Jinxy and his knife for the n'th time.

Earlier he'd stormed off, afraid of what was going on behind the door, but certain of his friends now, he twists the knob.

'Okay, you guys officially have way too many toys,' Topanga announces.

Cory half collapses in relief to see her and Shawn, sitting sedately on the bed, clothes on and both feet on the floor.

Well, Shawn's - Topanga's twisted onto her knees to examine their shelves.

'I get the ray gun thing, it's cute, but I bought this one for Josh!' She shakes the box which emits a loud moo.

Shawn smirks and catches Cory's eye. 'Busted.'  
The double meaning so blatant even Cory, by his own admission not the subtlest of men, gets.

'You guys were playing me?'

'Guess we are good actors. Although I think I got competition as a writer. Topanga's script was pretty hot.'

Cory paws at the proffered papers, and both Topanga and Shawn crack up as he flips to the back page first.

'Cory Matthews you are a dirty boy,' Shawn coos. 'There's no nude scene, I think your head would have exploded if the dorm went co-ed.'

'Besides, I have to hold something back for our wedding night, right? Topanga purrs.

They both laugh in unison again as Cory's expression must reflect his warring impulses. Protest inappropriate best friend fiancée interaction versus encourage any hopes of pre-marital hijinks!

'I told you Topanga, this guy has a nasty side - he thought a cow was involved for Pete's sake!'

Cory's eyes are nearly popping by now and his complexion is looking dangerously purple, so Topanga and Shawn, after exchanging glances, decide he's suffered enough.

'It was a bit, Cor. We got pizza, wrote the script, and headed back here.'

Topanga confirms this with a nod. 'I couldn't face another fancy restaurant after our anniversary. We blew off your reservation and went to Pirate Pete's. It wasn't exactly romantic cuisine.'

'Well maybe not to you - ' Cory automatically defends his favourite restaurant before focusing. '…But the tape! And...underpants!'

Topanga moves behind him to rub his shoulders before he can get into this groove again.

'You can't not feel something! I watched that tape 512 times. There were practically sparks coming off the screen!'  
By now he's panting a little.

Shawn and Topanga make eye contact once more.

'Uh...Cor?' Shawn pauses, searching for the right words, hands raised defensively.  
'Did watching the tape…do anything for you? I mean, aside from turning you into the hulk anytime my underwear comes up?'

Cory can't see Topanga's expression but her slow movements don't stop or even pause. This clearly isn't a line of question coming as a shock for Ms Pre Law.

Shawn moves closer, so he and Cory are sitting knee to knee. 'You didn't…I don't know, feel something?'

Cory's never been able to tell apart Topanga and Shawn from touch.  
Topanga's hands are sure and strong, Shawn's surprisingly gentle and deft. As Topanga rubs rhythmic circles on his shoulder blades and Shawn leans forward and softly tracks the seam of Cory's jeans upwards, Cory feels almost dizzy, like once again he's mixed them up.

Topanga kisses his neck as Shawn's hand grasps the hard on he's had for pretty much 36 hours straight.

Cory cringes, embarrassed as well as overly sensitive after his over indulgence in this very dorm.

Shawn's hand stills. 'Look, Cory. The kiss, it didn't do much for me.'

Topanga pulls a mock scowl.

Shawn affectionately pulls a curl of her hair. '…My beautiful co-star aside.'

Topanga smirks as if mollified.

'I can't be you. I never could. Me and Angela took a break so I could figure out what I do want.'

Shawn pauses, a little nervously, but before he can continue, Topanga leans toward him, kissing him slowly but sweetly, between his mouth and cheek.

'Hey. Don't overload him. The mind can only process so much.'

This is pretty much true. Cory's communication has devolved into soft murmurs of rapture at this point, jealousy forgotten, sandwiched between his two favourite people.

Shawn looks mutinous for a second but defers to Topanga, pressing his lips together as if sealing his tongue, while he unzips Cory's fly, encouraged by his moans.

'You know...' Topanga trails in a lighter tone. 'The girls' dorms have way better toys than this.' She leans over to rifle through her bag.

Cory and Shawn catch each other's eyes. Shawn grins affectionately as Cory's thoughts once again light his face.

Cory mutters an 'Oh. …Oh!'

He looks up at Shawn who waggles his eyebrows and nods in confirmation.

'How can you not love this woman?' Cory hums, words seeming slightly incongruous, not to mention slurred, as his tongue explores Shawn's mouth.

Shawn's eyes half lid, unwilling to shut them fully in case it all disappears. As far as he's concerned, bringing this about pretty much qualifies Topanga as the best person he knows.

Chapter Three

It's his eighth coffee of the morning, sipped at while flossing the oven maniacally. It's only 8.30am and he's already pre-moussed Shawn's hair, laid out both their outfits for the day, prepared their cereal and juice, and fluffed their towels to maximum fluffiness. It's amazing how much you can get done if you just stop sleeping!  
Cory's aware that he'll probably crash minutes into his first class, but for now he's broken the sleep barrier and is buzzing.

He's already planned an outline for Feeny's essay on Freud, although he'll save the section on dream analysis - all this energy is dependent on fixating on anything but these damn dreams.

He's had some odd ones lately, almost nostalgic for Ms Costa Rica and Jinksy. He and Shawn even had the same one after the wedding crashing incident - he didn't ask Shawn, but for him it was almost hyperreal, not like the blurry scene shifting of regular dreams.

He can still feel the scratchy sand on his feet, sun beating down, the metal button on his jeans burning his navel, juicy grapes popping under his teeth, listening happily to the soft sounds of the lapping shore and Shawn and Jessie's moans.

These new dreams are hyperreal too, which makes them worse. His hands still feel chapped from the rope, surprisingly strong for a cheap toy. Can still picture the cherry colour Shawn's face turned, feel the sting of his nails scratching Cory, body shuddering heavy against him, gasping.

Just thinking about it is enough to have him searching for something else to do. He tells himself it's because the dreams are upsetting in their violence. It might even be true.

After all the dreams recently, and spacy after 48 hours without sleep, he's still not a hundred percent on whether he spoke to Feeny or Dream Feeny.

If it was Dream Feeny, he seemed as patient as his real life equivalent, but at Cory's stammering over dream analysis and his recent struggles comprehending the Pankejeff-Freud case and the latency theme, he gives Cory a look of what could only be described as genuine pity.

'Mr. Matthews', he says, as gently as he spoke to Cory as a child. 'These readings are not set to tax your brain or further burden your time, precious as it may be.'

At this he raises an eyebrow.

'You and your loved ones may be meeting the world for the first time, but a little known playwright ventured there's nothing new under the sun. Crack a book or two. You might find your problems don't seem so unsurmountable.'

Cory moves to interject, but Feeny ploughs on.

'…Things don't have to work out according to a specified plan for happiness to occur. Like a flower, it can grow in many differing conditions of soil. Not every plant need fit in the same pot.'

It takes Cory a few seconds, and he can see the pain on Feeny's face to have to simplify his metaphors to this level, but his eyes widen.

'You're not talking about plants anymore.'

'A plus, Mr. Matthews', Feeny says drily. 'Good luck with the Freud draft.'

Cory doesn't return to the dorms that night till past midnight. He meant to, he's pretty sure Shawn's sleep has been as fractured as his this week, and his usual Cory overreactions can't have helped.

But he's still a little embarrassed after the scene in class, and his blood is still at least half caffeine, so he ends up on a rare inspiration kick, polishing his essay until the letters start blurring.

When he finally does hit the sack, he's too exhausted to worry about the dream, asleep almost as soon as his head hits the pillow.

When he wakes, this week's anxiety is forgotten. He can feel warm sun rays streaming in through the window, smell hot coffee percolating on the stove, hear the rustle of the daily comics.

At that point, he knows this is too good to be true – the R.A. banned kettles on a power trip a while back, and while Shawn is an expert cook, his field of speciality is relatively slim, restricted to 'stuff that can be cooked on an engine'. The stove generally goes untouched between Cory's occasional baking binges during finals.

He's oddly calm as he stretches, knowing somehow before the actual contact that his arm won't extend further than a few inches due to the warm body next to him in the teeny single.

'Morning, sunshine', Shawn purrs, kissing his cheek.

He flips through the paper. 'Wanna see the new Argenta tonight? It's got three blood buckets out of four.' He waggles his eyebrows goofily.

Cory, despite his hazy confusion, can't help but snicker a little. Killing time in an attempt to tread water before the inevitable chainsaw massacre starts, he ventures: 'Ah, I don't know, Shawnie, I got that paper for Feeny due…'

'The Freud piece? Babe, you finished that a month ago. You feeling okay?'

Wha -? Okay, the bed thing is normal, how else do you share delicious pancakes, and he and Shawn have always been affectionate, but this sure does seem more…peaceful than his previous dreams? Cory tries desperately to think of a better euphemism, aware he can feel Shawn, half hard, casually leaning against him, in nothing but his ratty Om tee-shirt and boxers

(!UNDERPANTS!)

and even more aware that he's not entirely immune to the situation himself, thankfully concealed by his sweats and vest.

The old dream may have been scary, but at least he knew when he was, if not where.

What if this is some Terminator style future where he tricks Shawn into a false sense of safety ('A way better term for giving your best friend a boner!', blurts inner Cory) before returning to smush him in some crazy new way, possibly involving robots?

'I had a weird dream' he tries.

Of all the possible reactions he was expecting, Shawn bursting out laughing wasn't one of them.

In previous dreams he's gotten pissed, worse is when he begs Cory not to hurt him or asks why.

Shawn and he trade off being the rational one, neither taking the role often leads to the wacky schemes they're trying to put a stop to now they're sophomores. So he gets Shawn wanting to talk him down, but flat out amusement seems a little blasé on hearing that your best friend dreamt of your violent murder – again.

'Sounds scary', snicker Shawn. 'So how'd I go this time? Another cockfight?' He leers exaggeratedly at Cory.

'Lava down my pants?' Without warning, he swings a leg over, straddling Cory.

'Or do you push me down your shaft and shove a bat down my throat again? You know, you can just ask for a blow job now, Cor. I might not have aced the psych mod like you, but I'm pretty sure we've both got plenty of experience with repression.'

At this, he grinds a little. Not forcefully, just a lazy stroke, like it's Sunday morning, with nothing ahead of them but the rest of their lives.

'You know, I thought the whole dream thing was one of your freakouts, but I underestimated you, babe.'

That word again, Cory feeling the same tug of shock

(guys don't call other guys that)

twinned with an odd pleasure.

'Come on! You dreamed your wedding was making you rip my heart out and kill me in bizarre, homoerotic ways? I think even Eric could work that one out.'

Cory sits up a little, stung, and Shawn, sensing the mood shift, frowns a little.

'Yeah, I'm freaking clueless. We can't all be self-actualised Shawn Hunter and work out "I like guys" at like, 13. Excuse me for not immediately getting that, I only knew you guys like, my whole life.'

'That's not fair, Cor. I never stood in yours and Topanga's way, I bent over backwards to make sure you got what you said you wanted. If you didn't have such a Mr. Teen America complex, maybe we could have worked this out before stringing along the girls.'

Cory bites his lip. He has to bring up the elephant in the room, reluctantly.

Shawn was always moody about Topanga, one minute desperately trying to force them together, the next snapping at her name and taking shots at her.

A dream in which he and Cory are…well, sharing a bed for more than pancake consumption is unlikely to be one in which he should bring her up. But the dizzying familiarity/unfamiliarity forces him to, maybe even a little fear.

(she was getting in the way)

'So I'm guessing Topanga's out of the picture.'

Shawn doesn't flip out as expected. Instead he sighs patiently.

'Look, Cory, I know you didn't want to hurt her. We didn't always agree, but I love her too. But at least you guys straightened this out before her life was messed up for good. I mean, I know you guys better than anyone.  
If you'd got married, you'd have stayed that way all your lives. Topanga's never failed at anything, if she wanted to make it work, it would have.  
And you'd have kept her from finding the person who loves her as much as she deserves. You think she wants to spend her whole life as her own husband's runner up favourite?'

'So if she and I had got married, it would have been bye, see ya later Shawn?!'

At this, Cory loses it himself. Even hypothetically, the idea of any kind of life without Shawn makes him feel sick and hollow.

He and Topanga have put him to the choice one or two times, he reflects guiltily that he probably should have decided before either of them had to ask.

But both fiery, stubborn my-Topanga and my-Shawn are a little cowed at forcing his hand too often.

Maybe neither of them were convinced who'd win that battle.

'What do you think?' Shawn says sarcastically.

'You know what it would have been. It would have been me playing follow the leader after you two until she or I broke. I'd get to feel like shit that I didn't have the balls to walk away and let at least one of you be happy, and she'd find out the only way she gets her husband to herself is to give up Yale and have kids, so you can spend your whole life telling yourself you're Joe Normal like your perfect family!'

'Topanga would never have gone for that', Cory mutters after a pause, embarrassed.

No matter how his dream go, it always comes down to this choice, and in a thousand different endings, he always end up hurting them both with the years he didn't choose.

For two people he pretty much worships, he sure has found a way to make them both feel like they're not enough.

'She doesn't have much faith in' he air quotes 'traditional marital structures, her parents have been fighting for years.  
To get a degree from the same college as you, me and Eric,'

-Shawn smirks a little, reluctantly –

'so her first time with a guy could be with me picturing you? So we can have kids who grow up knowing that they're here because the best thing that ever happened to me was another guy, so I settled for my best girl? No way. Never.'

Shawn shrugs. 'You know I would have come back. Maybe if Angela and I made it work, it could take the pressure off. Topanga loves her, it wouldn't look so weird. We could be…I don't know, neighbours. Cool uncles to each other's kids.'

'I don't want my life to be somewhere for you to visit. Or to hide the stuff you've given me where my wife can't see it.  
I don't want to keep wanting stuff because I'm supposed to. I want you to be my life. And…I wanna wear your ring.'

Shawn cuts him off then with a kiss, almost swallowing Cory's last syllable, desperate. Like he's been waiting his whole life to do it.

Later, much later, fuzzy with sleep, he murmurs. 'I want this to be forever.'

Shawn licks his lips a little. 'Is this what you've been dreaming about?'

'I think so. I just didn't know it. How long would you have waited if I'd kept on being a big stupid?'

'I've waited thirteen years. I guess I'd have waited a few more.'

In the morning, he opens his eyes. He's not okay.

He never has been, not with change, and despite rushing into marriage his whole life, not with the future.

But the promise that, whatever choices he makes, change is inevitable doesn't feel so much of a threat anymore, as a promise.  
A secret hope.  
There's still time.


End file.
